


all the shades of blue there are

by FallacyFallacy



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: 7 times, Aftermath of trauma, Getting Together, Loyalty, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Ryuusei Bonfire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallacyFallacy/pseuds/FallacyFallacy
Summary: At one end purple. At the other, green. All they share among them lies between.Or: on redefining your relationship in the wake of tragedy when you've maybe always been kind of in love with them all along.
Relationships: Kanzaki Souma/Shinkai Kanata
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Enstars Rarepair Week, Spring Renewal 2020





	all the shades of blue there are

_1\. aegean_

“The ‘tie’ suits you.”

The cherry blossoms bloom late this year; there’s little to break the monochrome colouring of the crowd around them. Kanata is a shock of green, the eyes familiar but the tie new and strange.

Neckties don’t sit as awkwardly on Souma now as they had last year when he’d been forced to rely on Hasumi to even tie a knot. But his throat feels tighter now than ever.

“Does it?” he says, voice breaking even on these short words. “I must admit… I-I certainly do not feel like a second year.”

He winces. So much time has been lost. Kanata knows that better than he does.

But Kanata stands calm among the roiling waves of students.

“You’ll do great. You’re a ‘good boy,’ Souma.”

You’re supposed to cry on the last day of school, not the first, but Souma can’t help it.

“S-still,” he says, and he wishes he could go back to six months ago and start over – take off from then. Just scrub the whole thing. “You should be the one wearing this.”

Kanata’s eyes widen. “The tie? That means we’d be ‘classmates’. That sounds pretty ‘fun’…!”

“Oh, no,” Souma says, worried all of a sudden. “My classmates don’t, um, like me very much… I’d much rather have you as my – as my sempai!”

He’s proud of how he checks himself in time despite his nerves but Kanata’s eyes seem to grow duller.

“Is that so...” he murmurs.

He knows he’s overthinking this – he always is. But for a moment, he thinks Kanata looks lonely.

*

_2\. periwinkle_

The petals pool in tiny puddles of rainwater, transparency dyed away by reflections of soft purple.

Souma swallows, face heating. He knows he’s being teased; Kanata flutters his fan as though he were the true Lady Shizuka, eyes bright. But the comparison hits just a little too close to home. They are to play the roles of husband and wife on stage, but while the long sleeves and twisting cords may be mere costume to this audience, they bear striking similarity to the wedding robes his mother has had laid out for him since he was a child.

He doesn’t have words for how much of an honour it would be.

Last night, Kanata had visited his house. The wide halls had burst open with activity, stern relatives dropping to tatami over and over in devotion. Souma had fumbled for Kanata’s hand, fingers slippery as he pulled him away, stomach turning with an awkwardness he didn’t know how to ease.

Shut up in Souma’s room, with as much privacy as paper walls allow, he’d bitten his lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I swear I’ve tried to explain to them-”

“It’s _fine._ ”

Kanata always looks so calm. For the first time, it unsettled Souma.

“Did you… mind?” He swallowed, gesturing jerkily. “Back then. When I...”

Lit only by candlelight, Kanata’s eyes somehow shone vivid gold.

“No,” he murmured, voice like the pattering of rain against a window. “I was happy to have a follower at school with me.”

Souma didn’t flinch. He didn’t move at all.

That night, as the sun fell and leeched all colour from the world except the deepest midnight blues, Souma couldn’t stop looking at him.

Kanata fell asleep first, as home here among futons and tatami as he is among Ryuuseitai’s mechanically projected starscapes. Souma should lie beside him but he cast too heavy a shadow. If he sat up, just right, the moonlight could flit unobstructed down to Kanata’s pale cheeks, as straight and true as a heavenly arrow.

Kanata mumbled, now and then. As Souma watched him, he was snoring.

He just can’t believe Kanata is _here_ – the same spirit Souma had paid tribute to, had danced to, had prayed to in moments of desperation and joy and wonder. Meeting him had been a revelation, tales twisting together into a physical form Souma had always known existed but never thought would hold any relevance to his own. Yet here he is – all fingers and lips and ankles, skin shifting over the same sinews Souma can see in himself.

He doesn’t like to imagine that Kanata is made of the same blood and meat as he is. He doesn’t want to think that if Kanata is hurled against something, he’ll break.

Sitting over him, Akatsuki’s shadow bit his lip. He wanted to curl over him, now – protect him, like armour, from all the evils of the world. He’s always known deep down it wouldn’t help. Kanata would seep through the cracks, dripping from his hold as though his hands were made of origami paper. Now, he worries more that his sharp edges might slice him to pieces.

He never curled. He lay down straight, at his side, and wished he could do more.

On stage, he’s dazzling. The Gods are more than able to dance for themselves, Souma has learned. But this is the first they’ve shared this space since _then_ , and every time he regains his focus he drops it again, heart pounding wildly. He’s overcome his anxiety about appearing on stage, but Kanata can make his insides twist like no other.

The audience cheers, far more rowdy and excitable than they ever are at Akatsuki’s performances. Tenma bounds like a rabbit, sharing a delighted grin with Souma as he passes. Mikejima smiles even wider, rounding the stage with footwork even Kiryuu would approve of. Four idols is hardly a duet, and in the end, there’s only one moment when Souma sings and Kanata responds.

Kanata smiles at him, kindly. But Souma can only see his shocked, tear-stricken face.

*

_3\. arctic_

In the summer they get shaved ice, damp cardboard cupped gently within sun-tanned hands and mouths chasing every meandering trail of dripping water. The aquarium is at all times a festival of colour, vivid Ryuuseitai-like rainbows suspended behind tanks of pale blue. But on sunny days it brightens to fervour pitch as children in sailor uniforms and young women bearing wide straw hats flood everywhere it is dry, a bustling coral reef suspended in oxygen.

Kanata is in his element – even more so than usual. His eyes flutter closed as he eats, and he never can quite finish his ice before the syrup drips down stickily over his fingers but today he swirls his tongue over the stained skin with a particular luxurious lethargy that immediately sets Souma swallowing thickly on air.

So much of it is distracting – the flecks of transparency where his pure white uniform was splashed during the dolphin show; the sweat at his brow, brushed away by his wrist with the grace of a feline. In such sunlight Souma’s cheeks can barely stand to heat any further, but when he takes a great gulp of ice the shock only sends him even more lightheaded.

Kanata laughs, reaching out to pat Souma’s head. “Don’t rush, Souma – ‘enjoy’ yourself!”

Souma jumps, pushing back his chair with a terrible metallic screech.

He fumbles for explanation as Kanata blinks. “Y-your hand – it’s still sticky...”

For a moment, Souma can’t breathe. But then Kanata hums, turning his colour-splattered hand over, and nods understandingly.

“Mhmm - I wouldn’t want to ‘mess up’ Souma’s perfect silky ‘hair,’ after all~!”

He sticks his tongue out. That, too, is the colour of syrup.

They move through the Aquarium the same way they always do, taking a path as choreographed as any of their dances. But for once the familiar rhythm fails to comfort; Souma can’t let go of a particular agitation. It’s not just that Kanata is being so unusually affectionate this Summer, it’s that...

...it’s that Souma knows _why._

When they pass a giant cylindrical tank, a wonder of modern technology, Souma wants to take Kanata’s hand and _run_ somewhere else. He can’t believe how much time he wasted here, turned round and round in circles, so stupidly, uselessly _lost_ while Kanata could have been scared and trapped and crying.

It had been his first real test and it should have been in his favour – hadn’t Kanata himself admitted Souma loved the ocean just as much? Hadn’t he been to this aquarium on countless prior occasions, travelling this same worn path side by side with Kanata, listening with a calm attention as his captain extolled the virtues of varied sealife in a soft, soothing tone?

But he’d left behind his sword so as not to cause a fuss, and then there had been that infuriating, impossible Hakaze, who had been grabbing at the poor transfer student since the moment they arrived, and he had confused Souma with uncomfortable new clothing he insisted on paying for and careless declarations that Kanata was probably ‘totally fine,’ and Souma had been so out of sorts he’d barely been able to navigate a hallway.

“And here’s the ‘manta ray’. Hehe, it really does move in such a ‘strange’ flap-flappy way, doesn’t it? It’s very unique!”

He wants to know what they talked about.

Kaoru had brought it up so off-handedly – their families have some connection, and so Chiaki had suggested Kaoru be the one to speak to him. But _what_ connection, exactly? Whenever he asks himself that question, Souma feels an urge to pull at his hair. Months ago, hadn’t he noticed that Kanata was upset? Hadn’t he guessed, immediately, that it had been that mysterious family of his grieving him so? And hadn’t Kanata pursed his lips and turned away, speaking no more even after he greeted Souma’s own devout parents and laid himself down in the Kanzaki family’s finest futon?

He’s being impossibly ungrateful. Kanata _has_ opened up to him, lately.

Because Hakaze _spoke with him_ while Souma was stewing like an _incorrigible infant._

“You’re not ‘talking’ much today…” Kanata frowns, hand up against the smooth glass of a tank of pilotfish. “Are you too hot? Maybe we should go ‘home’...”

“No!” Souma blurts out, regardless of the redness in his cheeks and the sweat clinging to his palm. “I am just – I simply still have something of a headache from earlier. It has almost passed.”

Kanata blinks, and then smiles with delight.

“You really do like ‘shaved ice,’ don’t you?” He giggles madly, teeth visible behind his curled hand. “It makes me happy, seeing my ‘junior’ so energetic~”

Souma doesn’t want his head patted.

There’s a concrete pillar not far from them. For a moment, all he can think about is striding forwards, backing Kanata up against it until he stands flush. Souma has always thought of Kanata as taller, but he’s seen his magazine profiles: the difference in height between them is moot, and if Souma holds himself high he might see Kanata’s eyes turned up to meet his own.

Framed thus, nothing could prevent Souma from hitting his hand against the rough white stone, just beside Kanata’s splayed hair and pale cheek.

“Cease treating me as some adorable youngster,” he might growl, and Kanata’s lips would part, still cool from sweet ice…

“Oh no, did I ‘tease’ you too much…?” Before him, unquestionably just a little bit taller, Kanata smiles with a wince. “Souma’s making a very ‘scary’ face~”

“A-ah...No, I...um...”

“Sorry, Souma!” Kanata bows; Souma is too flustered to prevent himself from bowing lower in response, but he’s grateful for the excuse to look away momentarily. “I’m just having a lot of fun, ‘walking’ with you…!”

A breeze latches onto the ends of Souma’s hair. He looks up, heart likewise tossed about.

Kanata is smiling thoughtfully. “Hmmm, I think the ‘penguin exhibit’ is next…? We’d better hurry up ‘quick’ or we won’t be able to see everything!”

Kanata’s outstretched hand is a metaphor.

Souma takes it regardless.

*

_4\. lapis lazuli_

“...Please, forgive my rudeness, Buchou-dono...”

The strange material hugs against him tightly, pressing against his neck and biceps. Moving at all feels awkward – he can’t imagine how Kanata could do entire routines wearing this.

“It is nice to be exchanging uniforms with Buchou-dono as part of these ‘ressuns,’ but I must regrettably bemoan how dearly it does not suit me…!”

As he pouts, he expects Kanata to giggle and tease him as usual – surely, the contrast between his old-fashioned demeanour and this ‘science fiction’ costume must look comical indeed. However, as he bends awkwardly, smoothing out the vividly-coloured stretchy material at his thigh, Kanata hums.

“Do you think so…?” When Souma looks up, Kanata’s eyes are sparkling. “But, Souma’s ‘outfit’ suits him very much...~”

Anzu smiles and nods in agreement, but for once Souma can’t bring himself to care at all how his producer thinks.

Kanata murmurs again, more displeased this time. “More than me, for sure. Doesn’t the Akatsuki ‘uniform’ not suit me? It worries me...”

That’s a lie. Kanata has always looked most resplendent in Japanese clothing, holding his bearing as if he were the son of an emperor even if he were dressed as a vagabond.

But it’s not hard to wonder why Kanata might be unhappy. It’s Souma’s costume, that much is obvious, from the diving neckline to the bared right arm. However… could Anzu truly not have chosen any other outfit for this lesson?

His brain catches up, rushes to dismiss this unwarranted self-deprecation. “That is not the case, I wish to assure you of this...! Rather, it suits you extremely well – you look as if you were a member of Akatsuki!” 

Souma flinches.

He remembers seeing this costume from behind.

The floor was glossy and smooth underfoot, each step under his boots producing a loud, solid _thunk._ This, he had become accustomed to during rehearsal, along with the flashing bright lights and tight clasp around his ear. But when he heard the roar of the crowd beyond, he had been briefly stopped dead.

He thought it wouldn’t be too different from dancing for his family at summer festivals, loud cheers growing soft to his ears as he lost himself in the passion of his devotion to the gods.

But there were so many _people_. And his God stood mere metres away, decked in stars against a more brilliant milky way than Souma has ever seen in Japan.

He was the only first year on stage. His excitement plummeted in one fell swoop; now, suddenly, he was petrified. 

He looked towards his seniors for comfort. Both stared resolutely forwards.

He still isn’t sure why he remembers this moment so vividly among all that came after. But he can feel as though he’s still there the way he shakingly adjusted the warm metal of the microphone against his chin; the way he leaned forward and started as the floor creaked beneath him; the way the curtain suddenly rose as if drawn up to heaven, white-blue lights flashing at perpendicular angles as though they were caught in some giant, magnificent sapphire.

Kanata had glanced at him, just for a moment, and smiled.

Kanata chuckles. “Souma is very ‘kind,’ isn’t he…?”

Shaking her head, Anzu agrees with Souma, praising Kanata’s appearance equally.

But the words plunge through Souma, sharp as an ancient blade. He grasps at them frantically before they disappear, cursing his own inattention, until he’s left motionless and breathing heavily.

It’s still hard to believe he doesn’t need to preserve these moments so carefully, now. That smile he sent him that day isn’t the last affectionate thing Kanata will ever do for him, anymore.

Still. He takes it, greedily, and adds it to his hoard, piling up the treasures as if he too were a creature of legend. With that costume obscuring his vision and his heart pounding as it is, there’s still a part of him that isn’t certain all of _this_ won’t abruptly be yanked away from him someday, too.

*

_5\. turquoise_

Sometimes he wants to run away with Kanata into the ocean.

He’d take his hand and pull him towards the shore and Kanata would laugh in delight and race him there, ecstatic to finally find a partner to join him. When they plunged beneath, all sound would disappear and they’d swim and swim until their limbs grew heavy as rocks and they’d stop fighting back. They’d find a cave, Souma imagines, and decorate it with spiralling shells and brightly glittering scales, travelling out to hunt for fresh sashimi and then falling asleep on a futon of seaweed.

Souma has no reason to think such a world could exist, but he’d grown up fifteen years without ever learning the truth of modern Japan. Deep sea spices and harpoons made of fish gut seem no less plausible to him than microwaves.

The fantasy pulls at him, a hook wedged deep within his chest. He feels the tug more insistently when he’s sad or afraid, promising a place of peace where the world is gentle and everything makes sense, but the longing never entirely disappears, rumbling deep in his ears like the push and pull of the tides.

He knows, deep down, he could not do it. If he left this world of air, he would miss Hasumi’s mountain forests, slow and solid and dominating, and Kiryuu’s red-hot brightly dancing flames. Perhaps Hakaze has it the most right – a strip of bright yellow beach that encircles each side, gliding smoothly across the shoreline, never quite abandoning one for the other.

Worst of all: his sword would rust. His soul isn’t made for a world of endless water.

It makes him guilty to think it, but he knows that even Kanata would not thrive there either for all he has tried to escape. In the end, he could never consign himself entirely underneath. He reaches his hand out to Ryuuseitai and joins them overhead, a brilliant display of lights in every colour of the rainbow.

That is an important place for Kanata, too. There, he can show he’s so much more than they say he is. He can be among humans and count himself an indispensable member, working and aiding others as much as he has been helped. He can see the world, stand up in the sun in front of thousands of faces and show himself as he wishes. He can follow another’s lead and play the part of the hero.

But Souma likes who he is right now, too.

He likes it when Kanata is too strange, too mysterious, too hard to predict. He likes it when he smiles unkindly and Souma can see the God that still resides in him, no longer literal but no less a part of his body than his liver and lungs. He likes it when Kanata acts as inhuman as Souma sometimes feels, a resonating note that rings in Souma’s ears like a too-loud tuning fork. He likes it when Kanata’s teeth are too sharp, when his fingers splay with invisible webbing.

If they can’t run away into the sea, Kanata has brought the sea to them. Where Ryuuseitai is bright and bold and a paragon of Society, their clubroom is a little dark pocket that is purely their own, a bubble large enough for only them. There, Souma can join him and escape the world as well for a while, thinking of nothing else but Kanata and what they both love.

They say Kanata is a monster. Souma doesn’t see what would be so wrong with that. He’s always thought deep sea fish were cute.

*

_6\. indigo (and aquamarine)_

“Your ‘hair’ is sooooo pretty, Souma…!”

So distracted by the warmth of Kanata’s lap beneath his head, Souma jumps immediately at the unexpected touch.

“Sorry. Did I startle you…?”

“Um – yes,” Souma says, head still dizzy from the sudden heat of his new position. “But, I – don’t mind.”

Kanata hums, returning his hands to Souma’s scalp without hesitation.

The world around them hums quietly. Winter casts a white accent on everything it touches, brightly glittering snow and soft-tinted sky rendering each flash of colour all the more vivid by contrast. The Marine Bio Clubroom feels like even more of a refuge than ever, a singular space of flowing water amongst the stillness of the courtyard all around.

But for all its prettiness, it is unarguably cold.

It surprised Souma a little to realise how deeply Kanata dislikes cold weather. He would have thought he would feel at home there in the heavy silence, as though he were countless fathoms below the ocean’s surface in the deep, dark blue. But as long as Souma has known him, Kanata has always reached for the light and warm, arms outstretched upwards.

So when Kanata moaned about how difficult it would be to maintain the clubroom during winter break, Souma had immediately offered to provide comfort at least in terms of company. But where Kanata is slow and calm, Souma is the polar opposite, and that fiery hot blood apparently makes him an excellent portable heater.

Kanata’s fingers are icy and Souma squirms, trying not to flinch.

“Kaoru’s right – it really is silky...” Kanata murmurs, the soft smoothness sending shivers down Souma’s neck. “Like a ‘waterfall’...”

“T-thank you.”

It’s not rare for Kanata to pat his head, but this is less purposeful. He lingers.

“Oh -” Kanata murmurs. “...you don’t like Kaoru ‘touching’ it. Should I stop?”

Souma shakes his head. “I do not mind, truly.”

Kanata hums, twisting the locks around themselves. “I kind of want to brush it...”

He pulls. Souma has enough warning to keep himself from jumping again.

“Does this feel good…?” Kanata tugs again, as though untangling a knot; the pain is mild but it stings. “I always liked it when my hair was ‘brushed’…!”

Souma mumbles unintelligibly, swallowing.

He glances up. Kanata looks more pleased than he’s seen him all day, all thoughts of cold toes and frozen fountains far from his concern. He feels guilty.

But – it really does sort of… hurt, actually.

Once, he might have been reluctant to speak for a myriad of bold, larger than life reasons. Kanata was a God, and Souma was a follower, and Souma had heard enough tales growing up to understand the nature of that relationship. It surprises him a little, in the back of his mind, how long it’s been since that was a conscious concern. 

Today, he isn’t at all nervous about disobeying. He just doesn’t want Kanata to feel bad.

An image flashes before his eyes – Kanata, feet buried in sand and licked by waves, crying. He hadn’t told Souma he was sad. He never explained to Souma why.

Things have changed – since then, since Summer, since last Autumn. Kanata cradles him delicately, entreating his comfort. Souma feels warmer here, too. He doesn’t want to be punished.

“U-um, could you…” He breathes. “...perhaps comb, um, just a little more gently…?”

Kanata stops.

Souma’s face burns. The urge to apologise rises in him – an easy way to vent the tension he holds inside him by expelling it out into the world. 

But a moment later, Kanata’s hand moves again, slower.

“I see...” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since my ‘hair’ was long enough… is this okay?”

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

Kanata’s fingers wriggle through but tease the strands delicately, pausing when they encounter resistance. The pull at his scalp loosens, less a tug and more like a thousand tiny caresses. He feels a tingle erupt at his crown, travelling down on little feet to the base of his neck, and he wants to groan.

“...yes,” he breathes out, and his eyes flutter closed. “That feels nice...”

Kanata giggles. “You’re like a kitty...”

Souma murmurs in something like agreement, but it must come out as more of a purr because Kanata shakes with silent laughter.

The Marine Bio Clubroom has always calmed Souma as few other places ever could. Here, the dull grey walls mimic the overcast sky outside, languidly floating jellyfish passing overhead like living nightlights. Kanata’s skin is no longer frozen, pleasantly warm when he passes through Souma’s long hair and brushes against the back of his neck.

“This is nice,” Kanata whispers. He pauses behind Souma’s ear, fingernail scratching just at the edge of his hairline. “I like being able to make you feel ‘good.’”

Bit by bit, they find their footing. Both uncertain and confused and terribly lonely, they work out how to live among others in this world, together.

*

_7\. steel_

In the blink of an eye, another year passes, and once again Souma is engulfed in blue.

By the time he gets a moment with Kanata his eyes are already red and sore. Repaymentfes hadn’t prepared him for his seniors in Akatsuki leaving, not at all, and as hard as he’d tried he hadn’t managed to stop himself from bawling when Hasumi patted his head and wished him well. And all the while, he’d been aware that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d cry today – he had two more seniors still to farewell, until both his unit and his club alike were depleted to just him and him alone and he was left behind with nothing but a different-coloured tie to wish him well.

He is terrified of Kiryuu and Hasumi’s absence, and it stings him more than he ever expected to say goodbye to Hakaze just when it seemed they might be able to become friends. But none leave him with such a deep, unforgiving ache as when he thinks about Kanata’s graduation.

He was so happy when Kanata allowed him to join the club again. It hadn’t occurred to him, then, that it would only last for one year. He had run from the future, hiding away as though it might pass him over and leave him be, but as always it had caught up, and now Souma doesn’t know what will happen anymore.

It’s late afternoon by the time Souma finds him, convinced in some deep terrible part of him that he had already left without speaking to him at all. But there he is, at the fountain’s edge, just sitting. Souma can’t tell what he’s thinking.

When Kanata notices him he smiles. “Souma. You came to find me.”

“Of course,” Souma says, and stops. Anything he could say after that feels too frighteningly sincere.

The loud shouts and cries from earlier have died down, and for a moment nothing but a light breeze passes between them, gentle as Kanata’s eyes.

“You said ‘goodbye’ to the others already,” Kanata notices. Souma scrubs at his eyes self-consciously but Kanata shakes his head. “You ‘love’ them. Don’t be embarrassed.”

His throat is so tight. He doesn’t want to do this, but he wouldn’t walk away now for the world.

“Mm-mm,” he murmurs eventually, when he can gather some small level of self-control. “Unfortunately, I am still… a rather weak and incapable person. But I shall try my best to ensure none of my sempais need worry about me after you’ve all gone!”

Kanata frowns. Souma’s stomach drops – he hasn’t even left the school grounds yet and already Souma’s failed him.

“Please…!” he insists, taking a step forward unconsciously. “The last thing I wish to do is let you graduate while still bearing such concern for me! I may still be insufficient and childish and incapable, but – but I understand my failings and will do my best to stand proudly as an adult on my own... ”

“You’re crying.”

Souma rubs at his eyes again. He hadn’t known he still had tears left in him.

“That’s not...” His voice cracks. He swallows, thickly, shaking his head. Only a child would deny he’s crying when it’s plain for all to see.

He laughs, weakly. “...apologies, Buchou-dono.” He cups his face in one hand, too embarrassed to look. “I… must admit it. I will… be sad when you’re gone.”

He bites his lip, awaiting a light tap. _‘That’s no good, Souma~ It’s not like I’m leaving ‘forever,’ right? I’ll still come to see you at the ‘clubroom’ now and then, after all…!’_

Kanata doesn’t speak.

When Souma looks up, his brow is furrowed, lips pursed.

He blinks, eyes red. After some moments he giggles, his voice light.

“A-ahh...” he murmurs. “I don’t think I’m a very good ‘sempai’… but that made me very happy.” He fiddles with his sleeve, pulling it further over his hand, body curled in over itself. “Knowing you’d miss me.”

Souma sucks in a breath. In an instant, his insides ring out a clamour, calling him to action like the beat of a war drum. 

“O-of course, Buchou-dono!” He says all in a rush, shocked and confused and in a frenzy to soothe. “I would do anything for you – you must know that! No matter how far apart we may find ourselves, I will always, always try to find you! I would climb any mountain and swim any sea without shred of discomfort if I knew it were for your sake! Nay, I would consider it my highest honour to bear such sorrows if it were for you!”

Kanata whispers, “Don’t say that.”

Souma goes white. He freezes, suddenly oppressively cold.

Kanata’s brow is even more furrowed and he wrings his hands helplessly. He gazes up at Souma with pleading eyes, searching for words.

“I...I don’t want you to do that for me,” he mumbles, with such terrible fragile softness. “I don’t want to think of you, so tired and cold and… so far away.”

There’s only an arm’s length between them but Souma can’t move.

“I don’t want you to march for me,” Kanata says, and for the first time Souma can remember he sounds like he’s asking for something he’s not sure Souma is able to give. “I just want you to _be by my side_. I want to look after our precious fish in the clubroom, eat the meals we cook together at lunch, stroll hand in hand around the aquarium… I want to sing side by side with you on stage, to pat your head while you sit in my lap...” He bites back his words, blocking up the steam.

A moment passes and then he looks up again. His eyes are so lonely but so, so fierce.

“Do you want that, Souma?”

Souma stares blankly.

What does Kanzaki Souma want?

For as long as he has lived, that answer been irrelevant. He was born the first son of a samurai family, a role replete with privileges and duties in equal measure, and he has striven at all times to meet the expectations laid on him. While other children cried out in laughter beyond the Kanzaki house’s ancestral walls, he sat in silence and continued his calligraphy and did not complain.

He had been truly happy that way. Other boys his age might grumble over suffocating parents or misunderstood dreams, but Souma had never had anything to share in their communal grousing. When his mother and father took his hand and travelled to the shrine of the Ocean God, he looked up towards the red gates and felt himself well up in awe that he should be permitted to live the life he had been given.

And then he discovered the glittering, brilliant, irresistible world of idols.

What does Kanzaki Souma want?

That was what he wanted. He pleaded on hands and knees until his parents relented, telling himself that their silence signalled their approval for all their grim frowns made their true feelings known clear as day. He suffered the slings and arrows of his relatives, their scorn only propelling him further to prove that he could still do everything they asked of him and more.

He approached the gates as black as iron and he knocked. And then, by providence, he had met Kanata.

He can still remember the first day he saw him – how Kanata had glowed, like a delicate and radiant jellyfish, and how Souma had fallen to the cold, unfamiliar ground of the Marine Bio Clubroom in a bow of deepest supplication.

His eyes were pricked with tears. The red torii he had marvelled at were mere bricks by comparison. To be here at Yumenosaki – to be an idol, to be a Kanzaki, and to stand here at Kanata’s side as his protector not merely in theory but in such splendid physical practice… He could have wept at such a blessing. For a few, golden months, he had been favoured by the Gods themselves.

And then he had crushed it, as a beetle beneath his thumb.

He still cannot bring himself to relive the terrible, terrifying moment itself (heavy boots; sapphire walls) but he’s examined the immediate before and after over and over, to obsession. He knows, as he knows that the sky is blue and the sun is white, that if he had spoken to Hasumi before the lights went up and they were all caught up in that awful hurricane of discord that he could have stopped this.

There had been signs that Ryuusei Bonfire was wrong. But Souma had closed his eyes and turned away.

He had just been so excited to finally stand on stage.

Souma was born a Kanzaki. On an inherent, unchangeable level, that made him a solider built solely to obey his master and shield the innocent. He never understood that better than he did that night, curled in the darkness, shaking as if with fever. His sword glinted in the starlight, refuge and nightmare all at once. Its twin still lay in a Buddhist temple, a willing symbol of Souma’s promise of obedience.

Kanzaki Souma could not decide the path he strode down. Morally, practically, spiritually – on every possible level he could only surrender, giving his life over to to the one he had chosen as his master.

He wanted for nothing. Never again would he presume to decide his own fate.

Yet, in the depths of his despair, just one last flickering hope could never be extinguished. Perhaps someday, once Souma had paid penance enough for his past sins, he might be permitted to enter Kanata’s presence once more and look up to his eyes and call him ‘master.’

That was all he could ever ask for.

Kanata frowns. “Souma...” he murmurs, and the sound is so quiet and concerned that Souma’s rumination disappears like vapour into the wind. Right now he is here and Kanata is before him. How ungrateful must he be to escape elsewhere in his mind?

And yet, he has not the words to meet him. He shakes his head, licking his lips. 

“I...”

He can’t stand to look at Kanata, too beautiful and sweet, drawing him forwards again as he teeters on a tightrope.

Kanata smiles sadly. He reaches his hand forwards, touching Souma’s skin before Souma can will himself to pull back. His fingertips are so smooth, like rainwater dripping to the thrum of his chest.

“If you don’t want to...” Kanata murmurs, cradling Souma’s palm like a precious jewel, “that’s okay. I want you to be ‘happy.’”

Souma blinks. His eyes are too full, obstructed. His body _aches._

What does Kanzaki Souma want?

All of this, here before him, is so much more than he has ever deserved to ask for.

Out of the cracks, a fearful and righteous voice demands: _so how then can he say this was wrong?_

He had promised never again to ask for more, knowing all of the destruction and despair his selfishness had wrought within Yumenosaki. If he had never strayed beyond the path – never gazed at those above him and grown greedy to take their glory for himself – he would never have been used as a blade and placed at Kanata’s throat. He would not see Kanata’s terror when he closed his eyes.

He would never have met him at all.

Souma struggles, grasping at the certainty he had dug nails and teeth into for so long, but they flow from his hands like silk. Suddenly, he feels an onlooker to that small, victimised child, so hurt and trying so hard to find some way to understand how he could make it stop. That boy had felt so at fault, and hadn’t even been able to imagine a world where his mistake had not caused all possible wrong.

But since then, coming to Yumenosaki had brought him _so, so many wonderful things._

He had caught flies with Sengoku and fireflies with Adonis. He had gone to cat cafes and arcades and hot springs and vegetable markets. He had met classmates that became his friends, and together they had played hanafuda and gone to sleepovers and attended flower viewing picnics with lemonade and kebab. He had taken the stage countless times, and while not every concert had been the most strictly efficient display of his abilities, there had always been some single person who had been pleased to see him there. Even when his performance had caused the young Ra*bits first years to cry, he had joined them as comrades over and over afterwards and forged beautiful bonds of friendship as their mentor. He had helped his tired seniors sew breathtaking costumes and organise unbelievable school-wide events. He had seen a side of Hakaze he had never expected and on this graduation day was shocked to find how regretful he felt that he would be leaving.

And all along there had been Kanata.

At a time when he was still in such danger and still had so many reasons not to trust him, Kanata had opened his arms and allowed Souma to stand at his side, full of the infinite compassion of the ocean. And even as lost as Souma knows now he must have been, he had tried, over and over, to bring Souma to him not as a servant but as a _friend_. He had encouraged Souma to try cooking, and had cheered on his newfound passion, mingling it with Kanata’s own. He had learned how to mentor Souma in the clubroom, realising only over time that while Souma might express his love for the sea differently the extent of his passion reached up to Kanata’s own. He had been kind and attentive and confusing and playful and irritating and frustrating beyond words, and no matter what might pass within them or without, Souma never wanted anything more than to return to his side.

It was Souma who had gathered his resolve and set foot on Yumenosaki grounds.

It was Souma who had sworn himself to Hasumi, grounding himself in place in this school when he could so easily have escaped home and set his his father as his only master.

It was Souma who had chased the Marine Bio Club over and over, no matter what Hasumi said and no matter how much danger it promised for himself, and at this time last year when Shinkai Kanata was still a member of the Three Oddballs and Ryuuseitai was an enemy of the Student Council, it was he who had approached Kanata and asked to remake their friendship.

Kanata sucks in a breath. 

Souma reaches for him, gripping his arm tight before he can see, before he can think.

“You’re crying...” Kanata whispers. His brows furrow, self-hating. “I’m sorry...I’m ‘always’ making you cry...”

Souma swallows, heavily. His cheeks burn, tears weaving tracks down to his neck. 

He cannot say that coming to Yumenosaki was a mistake. He cannot say that it was wrong to want to be here; to meet Kanata; to love him.

“I do,” he says, and there’s nothing elegant about the way his throat croaks hoarsely. All of the strength Souma has ever possessed he summons now, blown over by the power of his own stuttering heart. “I-I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Buchou-dono…!”

Kanata’s eyes widen, then widen again.

The dam is blown. It pours out of him, uninhibited, and he can barely speak through the sobs, as though trying in some desperate way to balance the external world with the boiling-over he feels inside.

“I don’t want you to graduate,” he wails out, rubbing uselessly at his cheeks. “I want to stay with you here, all the time! I want to eat lunch and meet after school and see you first thing in the morning, every day...”

Kanata’s hands are shaking as he reaches forward, his eyes still so wide.

“Do you ‘mean’ it?” he asks, voice high and urgent. “You aren’t just saying that because I want to hear it?”

_He wants to hear it._

How can he explain to him that he’s wanted Kanata more than anything he has ever wanted in his life?

He thought for so long that he was merely following the path set before him. He truly believed that his journey to Yumenosaki was an aberration – nothing more than a chance mutation in his behaviour.

But no matter where he strode, through garden path and mountain pass, he had always, always looked towards Kanata.

Kanata was right. He’s tired of marching. He’s reached his destination.

He fumbles to rearrange his hands, threading his fingers through with Kanata’s. He needs to say something – something beautiful; the sort of thing that he’s told will make girls fall in love when he smiles at them from on stage. The sort of thing his mother taught him would win him an affectionate wife. He’s practised for this all his life.

Kanata is watching him like he can’t stand to even blink, presenting all the reverence Souma is trying to convey.

“The day we met...” Souma blurts out, voice cracking and nasal and unsalvageably ineloquent, “I thought you were the most beautiful person in the entire world!”

Kanata stares.

A sudden, terrifying fear stabs at Souma’s chest. Has he misunderstood? Is this not what Kanata was trying to say as well, or has he thoroughly, _entirely-_

But miraculously, Kanata lets out a sudden, ecstatically loud bark of laughter. He pulls Souma forward, squeezing him to his chest as Souma stumbles.

“Souma,” he says with infinite feeling, drawing out the word like he doesn’t want it to ever end. He giggles joyfully, eyes and nose all scrunched up, gasping for air. “I love you!”

Souma’s chest _pounds_. This can’t be real, he thinks dizzily, but this is Kanata’s chest and Kanata’s scent and he never permitted himself to even imagine this so he knows it cannot be a dream.

He ducks his head, red eyes pressed helplessly into Kanata’s shoulder, and finally lets himself put into words what his heart has been singing for as long as he can remember.

“I love you, Buchou-dono…!”

Kanata laughs again, so madly, uncontrollably joyful, and pulls Souma closer again. Rocking backwards, he teeters for a moment at the edge of his seat, and Souma has barely a moment to let out a cry of warning before they’re falling backwards.

Souma clutches ever tighter, and for one instant they are suspended together in time and space, one object against the rushing of the air around them. Then Kanata hits the water and Souma does too and they’re both surrounded by nothing else and it isn’t the fantasy kingdom Souma had always imagined but Kanata loves him so it is _so much better._

They’re drenched. Kanata’s shirt is transparent and Souma’s ponytail clings to his neck like a wet rag. Kanata can’t stop laughing. Souma can’t either. 

Suddenly, Kanata freezes. Souma stops too – has someone seen them? He rises, prepared to speak, ready to explain it all to Kiryuu and Hasumi and anyone who might ask-

“Your ‘sword’...” Kanata says, eyes suddenly going wide. “I didn’t think...”

Souma can’t breathe again; his throat is too thick. He _understands._

“If I apply oil later,” he whispers, “it will manage. I can forgive this one occasion if I can forgive anything at all.” 

Kanata’s posture relaxes, sincerely relieved. Souma loves him _so unbelievably much._

As Souma watches, Kanata reaches up, delicately tucking a sopping lock of hair behind his ear; Souma shivers.

“Do you know what I ‘thought,’ when we first met…?”

Souma swallows and shakes his head. From this close, he can barely see anything but the fresh, thriving green of Kanata’s eyes.

“I thought...” Kanata grins, and Souma remembers seeing this flirtatious glance only once before, when he had snuck down to watch Ryuuseitai’s Chocofes performance, heart pounding wildly. 

“...that you were suuuper cool~”

After a beat, Souma laughs incredulously. When Kanata only nods, Souma covers his face, groaning.

“S-surely not… after I asked you so naively about sea turtles…”

“Noooo, your ‘drive’ to take care of them was really manly~” At Souma’s raised eyebrow, Kanata tilts his head a little further. “… and it was ‘cute.’ You’re very, very cute.”

Kanata shines like every colour of the rainbow, refracted on billions of raindrops held against the warmest beams of light. Souma has never felt so _here_ , so vivid and bright and opaque, coloured at every angle by Kanata’s love.

A hand presses against his back, suggesting firmly.

“Hey. Come ‘closer.’”

Souma can see the stone boundaries of the fountain, grey against the prism of colours extending throughout the twilit sky.

Souma can see Kanata’s eyes, as green as the freshest new sprout.

He doesn’t see any more. 

*

_8\. electric_

Ensemble Square is very, very blue.

The logo is blue, the building is blue, and every piece of official merchandise comes emblazoned with that exact same hexadecimal specific (naturally trademarked) shade of artificial electric blue. It couldn’t be further from the deep, measured blue-greens of the ocean or the hopeful pale shade of the sky, and has none of the sincere youthful excitement of Ryuuseitai’s Blue Ranger.

When Souma was growing up, money was always gold, but nowadays it appears it can be any colour the public wants it to be.

Souma doesn’t mind. Nothing can take Kanata’s colours away from him.

When he stands on stage, he’s as brilliant as ever, heroic and mighty and joyous. At the aquarium, he’s focused and capable and strides with the confidence of someone who knows his surroundings like the back of his hand. In the clubroom when he visits Souma and Shinobu, he’s calmer and kinder, stepping back with soft smiles as his kouhais coo over turtles and push feed towards froggys.

To the world, to his friends, to his fellow idols alike, Kanata has clearly never been more alive.

But there are some colours that belong to Souma alone.

The way the sun’s blushing light plays through his aqua hair in the mornings, tousled by sleep.

The veins at his inner wrist, blue-purple lines beneath Souma’s lips.

They blend together, these two who were born in different worlds, kept locked away from humanity and knowing one another only through stories and song. They were set apart at every turn, made into enemies and villains all at once, and yet like these innocents who loved one another refound each other over and over.

The world is new and strange and so they paint it around them, in broad strokes and light touches. They have no palettes to guide them – no reference photographs for what they are. All they can do is entwine their hands and take it step by step, side by side.

Before school, Kanata combs out Souma’s hair. Souma warms up their breakfast in a microwave. They sit together, thighs flush, and share a secret, precious smile.

In that kaleidoscopic symphony that surrounds them, they already know where they will find a haven. A jewel-like lavender. A vivid green. And everything held between the two.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at [spring_renewal](https://spring-renewal.dreamwidth.org/1417.html): Any, Any, all the shades of blue there are.


End file.
